


A Pomegranate's Promise

by DaydreamAway



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Hate to Love, Hurt/Comfort, hades and persephone au catradora bro....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-07 09:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamAway/pseuds/DaydreamAway
Summary: "No one will notice you're gone," Catra lulled promisingly. "They have so many beauties in the world above but you... They'll never appreciate you the way I can down here. Don't you see? This is your home."Perhaps it could be, but instead of this Adora, shining goddess of the harvest replied: "This will never be my home."Alternatively - CatraDora Persephone/Hades au.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	1. A Warm Spring Day

It was a perfect day to collect flowers, although when you were a goddess of harvest and daughter of vegetation there was hardly a day that wasn't. In the sunny fields of Sicily's greatest grass the sun was beating down on her exposed shoulders admiringly as a wicker basket swung in her arms and a toga strap slipped further allowing even the sun to worship such beauty. There was something peaceful to come from strolling the endless wheat and blossoms on a clear day as if the world were perfect and the girl utterly without worry. Although, if you were to apply logic her life should very well be perfect given her lilting smile and charm that struck many as a farce to cover any of her Mother's tracks. 

Admired among the minor gods and goddesses as well as the almighty, cheerfully idolized by the youth and demigods it seemed a perfect life and her a blooming carnation just standing in wait for the string of praise. There was, however, something tiresome in being the floral goddess and in whatever stolen moments she got the golden-haired girl would sneak away into the far corners of fields, to where prying eyes could not reach and tend to weeds not to give them the gift of beauty but to commend them for their existence. Nothing died here and if it dared wilt then it would face an existence ridiculed where despite their hated reputation they would have to stick it out and exist. Even so, Adora thought that was pretty brave of them in such a timeline that admired only the shiniest of objects and anything dull may face ostracism.

That is to say when in Sicily the goddess couldn't resist visiting the weeds and though other deities may have called her foolish she liked to think even the life-clinging plants appreciated the company and replied to her praise. It wasn't something to be ashamed off to be less than those before you and more than once had she stuck her neck out for this cause and been chastised for doing so. Far too many times one had to watch the weekly wood nymph or oceanic creature be discarded by the higher Gods and crawl back to their unrelentingly unforgiving family and sit in the outcast, forever frowned upon for believing they could be what the Gods revered most - Eternal beauty. What was beauty without cultivated combat? If there was one thing the Gods loved more than a pretty face it was warfare, a second thing they tended to be gifted in and if you weren't... Well, that was too bad for you and your family's linear. 

Often Adora couldn't help but think, on days like this sun cast one, that if she had to choose one of these honoured virtues to excel in for all eternity it would drive a hard bargain. As a goddess, it wasn't as if she would ever be asked this conundrum of inquiries but even so, she had concluded over time that strength of the battlefield seemed a far more suitable and useful skill, and in the long run it also appeared to be the humanistic choice. It was not true that no goddess possessed both of these since off the top of her hair the harvest deity could name quite a few but they all had one or two things in common: marital earned privilege or burgeoned hate. Unlike Gods, not many celestial women were powerful without the vice of burning condemnation and it was a price like this Adora found frightful when imagining being fronted by this question. 

Even so, she would choose success on the battlefield. 

There was an awful competitive streak buried in her deepest roots and more than once they had shamefully sprouted in the company of others, showing a true black colour she had been beaten down for in the past. It seemed silly even now that she should be punished for this when such great heroes did far worse and were triumphed as brutal brides of war. More than once Adora had wished as hard as she could that things were different. If one couldn't be the best of all in their designated category that what triumph was left for a goddess? To be married to a strong and powerful God was not something that preoccupied her mind at night and so she contented herself with playing the role of harvest goddess, flimsy and florally elegant - a role that despite her complaints was not awful at all. The company of flowers was often superior to that of gods or humans. 

There was a deep need in her that would never be sated because of her status and ability, the need to emerge victorious and powerful in the face of all who may look down on her. It seemed a deeply evil desire in the eyes of fellow deities but even so, as a child Adora had stolen away with an uncle's sword, an aunt's bow and quiver all in the hopes of being like fearless warriors she'd been warned of. Even in moments of weakness and wanting the Goddess of the Underworld seemed an envious role and with a remembrance of this old thought the golden-weaved girl felt a flush of shame. Being jealous of the deathly queen! What a joke!

Pushing the nostalgic footnote down she carried on her way with the basket spilling over with the elegant carnations with the ambition for them to be the centrepiece for the banquet of the evening. She knew her mother would love them and that seemed more than enough for Adora these days. Talk of marriage had sprouted legs in their household and it was all the silken-locked goddess could do to distract them from her existence altogether. It was on the way to exiting Sicily's border something caught her sharp eyes with an imperative shriek of joy. 

Rare and vibrant Adora had stumbled unintentionally on the most beautiful flowers she may very well have seen in her entire visit to this field. Flecked with reds and oranges and golds and almost-blacks it shirked up from all the greenery and lavender sprigs in such a vicious statement she almost looked away, scared it would think her too plain to interact with. Crouching down dar too quickly the goddess slipped in the dark soil in an attempt to pick them and in doing so she grabbed a handful too many and almost uncontrollably began laughing to herself, loud and blissful it seemed the perfect day. Sitting up with the unusual and stunning carnations - she thought they were carnations - clutched to her chest she almost didn't notice the clouds obscuring the sun in all her childlike joy. 

"I know where you could find more of those beauties,"

This satin voice came from above her and so looking up in hopeful intrigue the bright goddess felt an overbearing sensation take hold of her chest. This woman was like no one she had ever seen, she was like the flowers now slack in her hand with all her beauty and mystical aura. The goddess knew not what a heart attack felt like but she wondered if this is how one felt. Shocks and tresses of black hair cascading down slim, bronzed shoulders the eyes that looked back at her were inquisitive and luring in their mismatched blue and cyan hue, inviting her into the lithe being with little pause. It was only as Adora's gaze followed down to an ample chest and slim hips that she found herself revisiting the question and with flustered - how unusual, she never got embarrassed - enthusiasm she beamed a bright, pearl-like smile to the woman. Was she a goddess? It couldn't be sure but it didn't seem to matter because her excitement always got the better of her. "Really? Would you... Would you mind showing me?"

"Of course, Goddess of the harvest," she replied keenly and with a smile so toxic it was overwhelming. Like a lily's innards the woman stuck out her hand in offering. 

Of course, Adora Goddess of Harvest thought nothing. Of course, that twisted smile could never be seen as anything other than stunning in her eyes because at that moment this woman was a vision, was the grandest being in the universe's core and so she took those long, rough hands in hers naively. She barely had time to register was happened as the ground moved from beneath her feet, Sicily's beautiful borders and cream cornfields turned to haunting edges of a chariot and they were no longer in the floral pasture she so loved. No, they were passing through dimensions of various hues at a dizzying pace before suddenly and haltingly pausing in a place so dark it wasn't sure they were anywhere at all.

With a whirring of chariot wheels and a smock of dusted grey, the two had disappeared from the familiarity that grounded the goddess to her celestial family. Opening her eyes Adora was not greeted by the fresh scent of daisies or the gleeful pouring of the darkest wine or goddesses meek chiding it was... It was black and gritty and walls of polished marble shot up from deceased leaves of spoiled soil. There was no light in this place no laughter or seraphic singing only the dull clinking of rusted chains and damned wails. It was awful and she felt sick to her stomach, crouching to her knees as if to relieve the pain but... What greeted her did not salve the terror. Facing down she could only see black-clad feet, heels sparked with blades. 

"Hey, Adora."

Adora, goddess of the wild and vibrant harvest was in the Underworld and she was confronted by the acclaimed, menacing titular villain who was responsible for it all - Catra. 


	2. where the sun does not visit

"What," she choked out against the dust. "What am I doing here? What is the meaning of this?"

Catra, Goddess of the Underworld simply crouched down in front of her. Observing her with glinting pleasure her lip tugged up when Adora faced her with a mean look. A harvest goddesses meanest look was meek when faced with the personification of darkness, with a woman who now encompassed the meaning of villain. In the pastel dream of Sicily's field, she looked an ordinary woman. There was nothing sinister about her. Adora watched her with guarded intrigue as her long hands' dove towards her face. She recoiled despite herself. Flinches meant nothing to the ruler of Death and she clasped a finger around a blossom hidden in blonde locks. Almost instantly what had been a sweetly scented petunia faded and disintegrated into ash on her sun-exposed shoulders.

This was where things went to die. Nothing of light could survive down here and it was as this realization dawned on her that look of pleasure twisted into fierce amusement. "I _so _miss seeing pretty things down here, Adora of the harvest. Does everything not look so... Dull?"

"Y-Yes?" Adora answered despite herself. 

"Everything down here dies," Catra said with a chuckle. She seemed to slip across the dark layers of the atmosphere in a glance, never landing anywhere too long. "I thought I ought to brighten it up, y'know, in case my Godly siblings ever feel like visiting."

The word 'siblings' was spat with a venom so poisonous it was triggered smoky chains around her ankles. Only noting it with the vibration it drummed against her skin Adora experimentally kicked her leg, feeling a fatal irritant at the restriction, at being a prisoner. Having been captured and deceived it wasn't in her best nature to listen to Catra but all the same, there was a grain of gracious optimism in her, her Mother's hard work in sowing the seed of grace in her from a youngling. So she jerked her head to say she was listening to the villainous woman's laments. 

"I suggest you let me go." Adora implored. Eyes shifting in a restless attempt to spot an out. "I'm hardly a fitting decoration for a place like this."

"Oh, but Goddess," the underworld's ruler said. She was in front of her yet again. "You are no mere decoration, things die down here but not without a fight. The process is long but there is an out I hope you will take, that is if you don't wish to prolong your suffering,"

"What out?" She asked.

"Well, by staying here. Obviously."

Ice settled over the harvest deity despite the decaying soil beneath her. Everything felt as though it was running through her fingertips like sand, her own life and family flashes in draining warmth as her eyes at last fixed to her surroundings, Where she was trapped there was no light, where she was trapped living things flailed in pitiful plea to be saved, only to disintegrate to dust and ashes in moments. She was in Hades, and faced with it's ruler with no other way to turn. The chains at her ankles felt like anchors. She couldn't stay here. She wouldn't.

"I am the Goddess of the Harvest," she threw out hysterically. Her fingers inched into her skin with the dark. It was closing in it was suffocating. She couldn't stay here. "Someone will come to find me, Catra of Hades and when they do you will pray for graciousness for having deceived me. My mother will-"

"Your mother cannot reach us here," Catra drawled, seemingly bored by her threats. "No one dares tred my terf, Goddess not even your olympian brethren."

"That can't be B-" The blonde started, thinking of the messenger God in urgent pressure.

"Bow?" The woman cackled. "He wouldn't dare steal from me again."

"Again?" She couldn't help but press.

The Bow _she _knew would never steal. Not on purpose. Sure, he could be a little heavy-handed with spreading news of the Olympians and sure, he sometimes squandered trust with the forgetting of a secret but he never had malicious intent, he would never steal. Adora didn't think anyone would dare steal from the Goddess of the Underworld. Looking at her was not how staring death in the face ought to be. In the mind's of many death is heavy, it is ruthless and heartless in ferocious villainy it... Is not made up of soft curves and warm hands. That isn't to say death didn't trace itself in Catra's features such as the curling of her lip, the twitch of her eye or the surety of her stride. Those hands had snapped necks, those hips were outlined by a dress that made movement and agile aggression simple she... She was Death in it's most terrifying format. 

"If you wish to see the world above once more," Catra slithered. Her other hand - the one not wavering around her face - was circled around a pomegranate, sliced half-open. "Then you will eat the fruit of the Underworld's womb. Only then will you be granted a release from this place."

Adora regarded the fruit with scrutiny, it's jewelled seeds glinting in spite of the dark. What was usually a banquet's delicacy was now sinister and the thought of swallowing anything grown down here made her sick. She couldn't eat that, not when it was being dangled in front of her as a hurdle like one would tease a mare. She was Adora Goddess of Harvest and she would not succumb to teasing. She looked back up at the fierce woman's face. "Why did you really take me down here?"

Catra didn't waver but she straightened her spine. "I wanted the company."

"You have henchmen." Adora deflected remembering the folk tales of old. They always detailed the woman of Death as an unlikeable figure, stoic and yet surrounded by those who keel over themselves to do her bidding. Even so, Adora couldn't see anyone else in this dreary section of the Underworld. "Do you not?"

"They're not much to look at." Catra threw a look over her shoulder as she sidled away. She didn't walk too far, the harvest Goddess could feel her gaze linger over exposed shoulders. "You on the other hand..."

"Be honest with me."

"Oh, I am."

"If you want me to take your pomegranate you will answer my questions," Adora started proudly. Her chest puffed up and remained inflated even as the woman slinked towards her once more. "Now, why have you stolen me away?"

"It matters not to me if you take the fruit, Adora," Catra said. "Whatever you decide will please me."

There was a cryptic amusement in the smile that crossed across Hades' ruler's face. The stitching of Adora's eyebrows must've caught her eyes as she traced their arch in a feather-light gesture, taking in the irritation and confusion with every bartering word. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't pinpoint what the woman would do next and it made knots in her shoulders, set her to breathe into a hitch that caught in her throat. Her mind boggled with the non-truths Catra faced her with, the reasons for her kidnapping shrouded in black-clad shoulders and a haughty rise of posture that never slumped. There was nothing Adora could do that Catra wouldn't expect. It was the reality of their dynamic but the Harvest Goddess couldn't accept it. She would return to her kingdom, not unscarred but not beaten and she would emerge on Sicily's hill proud, having outsmarted the Underworld's Queen. 

If silence amused her and acceptance of the pomegranate painted a wicked grin onto her face Adora would abstain from both. Hushed apologies to her mother echoed in the back of her head as her mind made itself up. Adora would escape Death's clutches and she would bite and scratch the entire way. Her sky-blue eyes then soaked up the night's harsh gleam and returned the look that was penetrating her expression."How can a Goddess of Harvest possibly please a Queen of Death?"

There must've been something frightening in Adora's face because Catra's eyes darkened. They were malevolent and they were drenched in digestive interest. 

"Everything dies," The violent Goddess reiterated, hand tilting Adora's chin up in searching. A non-answer. "Nothing gold can stay down here but you may just be the exception."

"I might not be." Adora deflected.

"There's only one way to find out. So stay," Catra lulled. Those hands were starting to sting where they touched her face, "Or eat the fruit of my palace and you'll see your beloved mother, Adora of the Harvest. One bite and eternity you will not spend here."

Freedom was tantalisingly close but there was a stubborn streak in Adora and it would prevail, she had to accept that. There was an underlying feeling that if she were to take the fruit she would be giving part of herself that she could never get back, she'd be surrendering to someone who didn't deserve her resolve. If she took the seeded fruit in her mouth, tasted it's sharp spike the dryness of her mouth would betray her: she would soak up defeat in an ichor that choked her. And so looking up at the almighty Goddess through her fluttering lashes, light and airily she threw a smile in the mix for effect. "No."

The hand slipped from her face instantly. Maybe she didn't calculate her moves as accurately as she fronted.

"Suit yourself," Catra shrugged. "But morning will never come down here, Goddess and if you keep denying my offers the learning curve will be a steep one... Sleep tight, _Adora_."


End file.
